


Moving Day

by therune



Category: DCU, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Family, Family Feels, Family Fluff, Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-30
Updated: 2018-03-30
Packaged: 2019-04-15 00:12:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14147676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/therune/pseuds/therune
Summary: It is her moving day and Lisa Snart does not accept no as an answer when she asks her friends for help(Alternate Title: A new home)





	Moving Day

“And here, one coffee for the best big brother in the whole world,” Lisa announced and set the mug down in front of Len. The mug was old, handle broken off. It proudly announced “World's Best Husband”. Len pulled a grimace and then drank anyway.   
“You mean the only one with a big truck,” he remarked.   
“You do have your uses, Leonard,” Roscoe admitted while he was walking past the pair with a cardboard box. It bore several 'handle with extreme caution' stickers, another sticker that warned of possible toxicity (a giant skull) and a hand-written 'No Digger' warning. Len flipped him off behind his back and took another sip.  
“I saw that,” Roscoe announced before leaving through the open door.  
“He didn't,” Len decided.  
“We are grateful for your help,” Lisa said and rested her hands on his shoulders. 

Len had a high value of his personal space, but Lisa always slipped right through his defenses. Spending times with the others had loosened his hold on his space, changing from 'impenetrable' to 'accepting of most casual touches'. The others had been the same, to some degree, but all agreed they had been worn down by James and his lack of social boundaries. Handshakes with two hands; elbow nudges; hand on a shoulder while the other was pointing, gently steering their gaze; hugs even, until it all evolved into chaos with him jumping on their backs, pressing into their sides, hanging off arms and eventually perching on shoulders. It was weird when most touches were weightless; with that shoes of his, he didn't weigh anything so they hadn't really minded. Lending an arm for someome to do a pull-up on was kind of cool, catching someone after a 20 foot leap simply made you feel invincible. Len insisted – to himself, because he'd never say that aloud to anyone – that it was the fact that he felt so strong after, that he'd grown used to physical touch. Certainly not receiving positive affection and comfort from multiple people over years, definitely not. 

Roscoe re-entered the apartment and smiled at his wife. At this point Len realized that he had reached for Lisa's hand on his shoulders and squeezed.   
“The workshop is done now, that was the last box. With the living room, bed room and kitchen already at the house, we should be almost ready. Are we forgetting something? It feels as if we're forgetting something...” Roscoe trailed off as he took his phone from his pocket and flipped through the lists he had made. At first, the others had mocked him for them, claiming that it was just moving a few boxes from their old 3 bedroom-apartment to a house. They soon regretted those words when they couldn't find the instructions to disassemble furniture, the necessary tools and forgot to label half the boxes they had already packed. Lisa and Roscoe smiled smugly, showed them the lists with the all the answers they had needed and gloated while the others unpacked, repacked and swore under their breath.   
“The box with the cleaning supplies stays here, we do need to scrub the place if we want to get our deposit back.,” Lisa reminded him.   
“Already accounted for – I got it. The cellar!”  
“I thought we took the boxes from there to the house yesterday.”  
“We did, I nearly slipped on the damn narrow stairs carrying your elliptical machine's packaging,” Len interjected.  
“No, the contingency box in the cellar,” Roscoe explained, “behind the fuse box.”  
“Your stash?” Len asked.   
“Roscoe's third contingency stash,” Lisa told him, “we like to be prepared for everything.”  
“In case we can't get to the box in the bedroom or the one in the workshop.”  
Len shrugged. It wasn't like he didn't have some guns stashed all over his place. Between sofa cushions, taped under the kitchen table and the sink...and in the fridge for good measure. He hadn't meant to hide the last one there, but found it one day while looking for his remote after a bender. And then he kept it because why the hell not? Roscoe went to the basement to fetch the last box, Lisa rinsed their mugs and put them next to their cleaning supplies while Len packed up his folding chair. Digger had laughed at seeing it, but when Len was the only one with a place to sit once the furniture was loaded up, he'd been envious.   
Len started his truck, packed to the brim with boxes. Roscoe balanced a green box – from the distance Len could swear it looked top-shaped – on his lap while Lisa peeled out of the driveway. 

They arrived at the house. A big 'sold' sticker was plastered over the real-estate agent's sign. It was a modern house with a garage on its left and a moderately-sized garden. A red pick-up parked in the driveway next to a black bike; a green compact car and an orange electric car stood on the street. And on the lawn, Mick and Digger sat on the couch, beer in hand, clearly taking an extended break that Len was sure had begun almost immediately after he and Lisa had left. And of course the big pieces of furniture – dining room table, workshop table, bed and Lisa's wardrobes (yes, plural) and the like – stood next to the couch. 

From one upstairs window, a head peaked out. It looked as if someone had both licked a socket and fallen into a paint bucket. Roy waved excitedly. “Lisa, there you are! Did you want apricot or peach for the guest bedroom? Mark keeps disagreeing and we're stuck.” He put emphasis on the disagreeing and Len absolutely didn't want to find out what the two morons had done while painting the upstairs rooms. Roy was a fantastic artist with flawlessly executed brushstrokes and while he didn't exactly let his colorblindness stop him with his personal projects, everyone agreed that he should have someone to supervise. In secret, Len was sure that Roy exaggerated half of the time to shock them since he could obviously read paint labels and the swatches Lisa had put on the walls and did his antics to annoy them. That didn't quite explain why his hair looked as if Mark had tried to use him as a brush, but Len wasn't going to touch that issue.   
Lisa stormed upstairs while Roscoe went to their new cellar with his box.   
Mick offered him a beer when he approached so he took it and sat down on the comfy armchair that graced the pathway to the house.   
“Where are the others?” he asked.  
“Piper's in the living room, setting up the electronics; you can hear where Mark and Roy have gone to. Sam and JJ are getting some pizza.”  
“And you decided to take a break,” Len stated.  
“We did have a serious question to contemplate and that has been taking us almost an hour so far,” Digger started to explain, then emptied his bottle, “and that conundrum is: why should we break our backs carrying our princess' solid wooden, pricey and extremely heavy furniture-” he opened another bottle, “when we could wait until JJ gets back and does it?”  
True, anti-gravity shoes were useful for that sort of thing.  
“And debating that dilemma took an hour?”  
“Why, Len, you make it sound as if we started drinking as soon as Sam drove off,” Mick added with a grin.   
“And there was nothing else for you to do?”  
“After Piper chased us out of the living room for messing with his stuff and we heard yelling from upstairs.... nope,” Digger answered with a matching grin.  
“I'm getting hungry, they should be back now,” Mick said after looking at his watch, “Sam insisted on fetching pizza from Ray's.”  
“The one halfway across town?”  
“Yup. Doesn't matter that no one besides him cares or that there's like 10 pizza places that are closer or that we could have taken delivery.”  
“Why did he take JJ?”  
They didn't quite trust JJ around food since he tended to mess with it. Mostly it was harmless – switched fast food boxes, mislabeled condiments and the like – but when he was pissed, he got inventive. Food colouring, laxatives, ghost peppers were just some of the things they all had been confronted with as a result of some of his pranks. Not that they hadn't have it coming one time or another, but they had learned to be wary whenever he brought food to party.   
“Sam got a new car and he wanted something between the greasy pizza boxes and his seats,” Digger explained.   
Sounded like Sam.  
And speaking of the devil, he arrived not a minute later. On the passenger seat, the pizza boxes were stacked on JJ's thighs until they reached his chin.   
Len got up, opened the car door and took the warm boxes. JJ slid out of his seat, stretched and then announced that Sam owed him 50 bucks because of course Mick and Digger had stopped working immediately and hadn't brought a single piece of furniture inside after they had left. Sam grumbled, but he had his favorite pizza, so he was in a good mood nontheless. One by one, the others came out of the house to join them. Sam had ordered their usual and was distributing the pizzas accordingly. Piper was the last to leave the house. You could see the fury radiating off of him.   
“Any devices give you any trouble?” Roscoe inquired, concerned about something having broken during transport despite his careful over-use of bubble wrap.   
“Devices? No. Your tech behaved perfectly. The ISP provide on the other hand – I have never encountered so much malice and incompetence before.”  
Len felt a rant coming on. Piper was brilliant, really, cunning and a little impish in his sense of humour, but he loved his rants. For someone who was sorta half-reformed, he excelled at his villain monologues. Clearly he hadn't been the only one to sense impending doom (more like 20 minute tirades starting with the ISP person he had called and finishing with god-only-knew but ranging from past experiences mostly came down to social justice, the evils of capitalism or the over-ratedness of string instruments) because JJ tossed him a ginger ale and when Piper was distracted, took the wind out of his sails.  
“Did you end up hypnotizing someone over the phone to do your reasonable bidding?”  
“Yes,” Piper grinned, “I only wish I had done it sooner and saved me 20 minutes of being transferred and stupid excuses.   
“We are grateful for you setting this up,” Lisa quickly followed, “we wanted this done correctly and we knew that we needed you for that. Thanks, Piper.”  
“And thanks to all of you,” Roscoe added. He raised his can of soda. “For your invaluable help in setting up our home.”  
“Anytime,” Le said and he meant it.   
As they sat on Lisa's and Roscoe's furniture in the grass in front of the house, eating pizza from cardboard boxes balanced on their laps, he looked around and felt happy. Mark and Roy both had streaks of color in their hair and faces, but were talking excitedly about the progress and that if they continued to make good time, the whole upstairs could be finished today, leaving only the workshop in the cellar. Piper did threaten to tie up Sam with some leftover cables if he came to close to any of the elecronics he was setting up, but assured him it would be quicker with just him; besides, someone needed to supervise Digger so he did any work. Digger huffed, especially when Sam agreed, arguing that Digger lacked the necessary muscle strength. A string of words followed that none understood as such, but it was obvious they were curses. Mick announced that he'd assemble the smaller furniture if the others carried them. More good-natured needling followed. Surrounded by food, laughter and his friends, Len was suddenly overcome. This was what family felt like. This was what home felt like.


End file.
